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I SAW THE SEA! 









A 










I SAW THE SEA! 


By 

Claud Leslie Dean * 


1935 

HARLOW PUBLISHING CORPORATION 
Oklahoma City 


Cov 


Copyright 1935 by 1 

HARLOW PUBLISHING CORPORATION 




8 9 9 8 0 


FOREWORD 


I believe that I am better able to cope with the 
problems of life now, because I have just finished read¬ 
ing “To the Unknown Teacher,” a manuscript by Mr. 
Claude Dean. 

In this work-a-day world, with its hustle and 
bustle of the crowds, it is refreshing to find a friend 
of man who has a vision of the enjoyment of life 
through deeds of kindness and expressions of sympathy. 
The author’s keen sympathy with human suffering and 
his sympathetic understanding of the problems of his 
teachers have been vitalized by long years of service as 
a teacher, and by indescribable experiences in No Man’s 
Land. His study and travel in war-torn Europe have 
given additional reverence to his expressions. 

All teachers and those who desire to serve human¬ 
ity will appreciate the vivid pictures herein portrayed. 


C. K. REIFF. 














TO THE UNKNOWN TEACHER 


“I sing the praise of the Unknown Teacher. 
Great generals win campaigns, but it is the unknown 
soldier who wins the war. Famous educators plan 
new systems of pedagogy, but it is the unknown 
teacher who delivers and guides the young. He 
lives in obscurity and contends with hardship. For 
him no trumpets blare, no chariots wait, no golden 
decorations are decreed. He keeps the watch 
along the borders of darkness and makes the at¬ 
tack on the trenches of ignorance and folly. Pa¬ 
tient in his daily duty, he strives to conquer the 
evil powers which are enemies of youth. He awak¬ 
ens sleeping spirits. He quickens the indolent, en¬ 
courages the eager, and steadies the unstable. He 
communicates his own joy in learning and shares 
with boys and girls the best treasures of his mind. 
He lights many candles which, in later years, will 
shine back to cheer him. This is his reward. 

“Knowledge may be gained from books; but 
the love of knowledge is transmitted only by per¬ 
sonal contact. No one has deserved better of the 
republic than the unknown teacher. No one is 
more worthy to be enrolled in a democratic aris¬ 
tocracy, ‘King of himself and servant of man¬ 
kind,’ ” 


Henry van Dyke 

















































































































































































































































































































































































CONTENTS 


Page 

Foreword 

To the Unknown Teacher 

I It Is the Unknown Teacher Who Guides the 
Young . 1 

II He Lives in Obscurity and Contends with 
Hardship . 15 

III He Awakens Sleeping Spirits . 27 

IV This Is His Reward . 33 















I SAW THE SEA! 























I SAW THE SEA! 


I 

“IT IS THE UNKNOWN TEACHER 
WHO GUIDES THE YOUNG” 


Y EARS ago. Roderick, the king, bade three of his 
young men—Duncan, Bruce, and Rollo—jour¬ 
ney into the west. “Go,” said he, “until you 
think you have reached the goal set for you, then re¬ 
turn bringing me the prize of what you find.” 

They sped away; weeks passed. Finally Duncan 
returned with garments frayed. He had been upon a 
long journey. He approached the king and said: “O, 
king Roderick! I have journeyed far across the plains, 
up the foothills, and climbed the high mountains until 
I came to the timber line. There I found this wild 
laurel, and I brought you this wreath.” The king 
took it but answered him not. 

Days later Bruce arrived. He was gaunt with 
hunger. His clothes were more ragged than those of 
Duncan. When brought to the king, he saluted and 
said: “O king! I followed the setting sun as you bade 
me, over the plains, over the foothills, and up the moun¬ 
tain side. I passed the timber line and climbed on 


(1) 


2 


I Saw the: Sea 


amid the snows until I reached a high place where 
jeweled rocks glitter and gold was found. I brought 
you of the gold and jewels.” He poured from his 
pouch the treasure into the hand of the king, who 
answered him not. 

Many more days passed, when Rollo, almost giv¬ 
en up as lost, staggered into the city. His shoes were 
gone, his feet gashed with the rocks, his clothing in 
tatters, and his emaciated form bore witness that he 
was almost starved. He fell prostrate before the city 
gates. They revived him but he refused food until he 
could salute the king- and answer for his commission. 
Then, leaning upon a friend and trembling with weak¬ 
ness, he said: “O, king! I have traveled over plains, over 
foothills and up the mountains. I passed the timber 
line and the region of perpetual snow. I stood on 
the summit where the winds are cold as they blow from 
the ends of the earth. Lo! I have returned to you 
with empty hands.” But his eyes lighted with flame 
as he cried, “O king Roderick! I SAW THE SEA.” 

“You are ready for my Legion,” said the king 

A GREAT cathedral was being built, slowly and with 

infinite care. Every joint and every crevice was 
made perfect. Three men who worked on this build¬ 
ing were asked what they were doing. The first replied 


I Saw the: Sea 


3 


that he was working for his wages; the second said 
he was hewing stone; the third answered that he was 
helping to build a cathedral for the glory of God. 

Who was the superior workman ? Which one 
“saw the sea” ? 

Many workmen as they “homeward plod their 
weary way,” have passed a certain country churchyard, 
and have seen tombstones, and grass, and yew trees. 
Gray passed this same country churchyard and saw 
meanings which gave to the world his beautiful poem 
—Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard. He saw 
among the dead many “inglorious Miltons”—men who 
had possessed the power to have done wondrous things 
had the burden of some vision possessed them. 

Millions of people had seen apples fall. Newton 
saw an apple fall, but he saw something more than the 
falling of an apple. 

Millions of people had seen steam raise the lids 
of teakettles. Watt saw the steam raise the lid of his 
mother's teakettle, but he saw more than that. 

Multitudes have passed the slums of Chicago and 
have seen poverty and misery. Jane Addams passed 
these same slums and “saw the sea.” 

I fear we have many workmen today who do not 
see beyond the commonplace; many “inglorious Mil- 
tons” who are not possessed by a vision in their work. 

Do you desire to be a superior teacher? Organi- 


4 


I Saw the Sea 


zation is necessary; methods are necessary; devices 
are necessary; training is necessary; but fundamental 
to superiority in the schoolroom is a “view of the sea. 
We Americans like organization, methods, devices, 
training; but we must not forget that love and radiat¬ 
ing personality have a greater place and that place is 
in the very foundation. There must be some purpose 
beyond the daily wage, beyond the hewing of stone, to 
release the power of a personality. Superiority must 
be linked to something—a vision, a cause. Seeing and 
shouldering the load have made men great. What 
would Luther be without his Reformation, Florence 
Nightingale without her work of mercy, Columbus 
without his dream, Booker T. Washington without his 
Tuskegee, Fulton without his steamboat, Paul without 
his missions? It takes strain to reveal and develop 
strength. To be superior we must approach our work 
with the knowledge that we work for something, and 
that something must be bigger than an envelope. 

I am writing this in the hope that someone may catch 
* a glimpse of the “sea”; may realize some way the 
appeal of some great cause that will unloose the fetters 
of a slumbering personality; that some “inglorious 
Milton” will not remain inglorious but will use and de¬ 
velop his talents in helping build “temples” for the ages. 


I Saw the: Se:a 


5 

I am using some of my personal experiences that 
have had an influence in my becoming a teacher and 
from which I think I can say, “O Master! I saw the 
sea.” 

Twice I have been in Europe. I was young when 
I volunteered for the Air Service and went to France 
during the War. For six months we were in the con¬ 
flict before the Armistice. When hostilities were over 
we went with the Army of Occupation to the interior 
of Germany, near Coblenz, and spent five more months 
in the land of our “enemy” before coming home. 

In 1922—four years later—I was selected by the 
Y. M. C. A. as a representative from the University 
of Oklahoma to make a study tour of ten different 
countries of war-torn Central Europe. In this group 
were thirty-nine other college students representing al¬ 
most every section of the United States. 

After a pleasant ocean trip and a brief stay in Eng¬ 
land and the beautiful neutral country of Holland 
we entered Germany—entered at midnight. The dark¬ 
ness of that time of night was symbolic of conditions 
there. One would suppose that the vanquished nation 
of the mightiest war in history would pay a tremendous 
price, and they were paying. Morals were at a very, 
very low ebb; hatreds were growing; suffering was 
being bravely borne. Hundreds of cemeteries with thou¬ 
sands and thousands of graves, spoke silently of heart- 


6 


I Saw the: Se:a 


ache, and torture, and pain. Their economic structure, 
also, was crumbling. 

From Germany we went to Poland and saw the 
results of war from a different angle. Here was suf¬ 
fering among the innocent—orphans, and refugees, and 
diseased— living in box cars and hungering or suffer¬ 
ing in hospitals, crudely built. I give one specific ex¬ 
ample that you can multiply ten thousand times and 
still be short of the total “hell.” In a crude hospital 
equipped and maintained by Paderewski, the great Pol¬ 
ish pianist and humanitarian, were hundreds of babies 
who had been left orphans. A few nurses were car¬ 
ing for them. We stopped beside one baby who was 
very ill, lying on a crude pallet on the floor. Its face 
was burning with fever but it did not cry. With its 
flushed face and hollow eyes, suffering alone, it looked 
at us seemingly in one final appeal. Only you who 
love children know how strongly babies can pull on the 
heart. This little child, in its baby way, appealed to us to 
relieve it of its suffering. We could do nothing, but it 
was not long till a pitying angel came and took it— 
away. Another little mound on the hillside. “O Mas¬ 
ter! I saw the sea.” 

O yes, this was some other father’s and mother’s 
baby. But suppose, just suppose, it had been that lit¬ 
tle blue-eyed baby of yours. Then you probably would 
say, “ ’Tis a dear price that you, so sweet, had to pay 


I Saw the Sea 


7 


for men’s hatreds, and jealousies, and lusts. Give us, 
0 give us men who can see the folly of such unneces¬ 
sary suffering. We need men who can see all people 
as their brothers and all children as their own. We 
need men who can replace hatred with love.” 

In France, the side of the victors, surely would 
be a picture of happiness. 

The battlefields presented broad expanses of once 
beautiful land now in ruins that will take centuries to 
reclaim. At Verdun we dined with the French comman¬ 
der in a strong fort underground. He explained the mean¬ 
ing of the motto, THEY SHALL NOT PASS, which 
hung on the dining-room wall, by taking us to a sec¬ 
tion of the battlefield where one could pick up bones of 
boys who had been blown to pieces by German shells. 
The commander’s own arm had been shot away. One- 
half million men were sacrificed in one brief battle— 
but the enemy DID NOT PASS. 

Whatever our opinion, there is in the men who 
give their services, their time, their lives if need be, 
for something beyond themselves, whether it be for 
king or country, a quality we can not help but revere. 
Even in war we honor valor. What a reverence awaits 
really courageous characters who will lead men to sac¬ 
rifice just as much for a higher patriotism—a pa¬ 
triotism that will include all their fellow-men—and, 


8 


I Saw the Sea 


when enemies of humanity attempt to raid, to stand 
abreast and say, THEY SHALE NOT PASS. 

Bringing the results nearer home, we visited our 
shrine of the war—the American cemetery in the Ar- 
gonne where 25,000 of our choice American boys, be¬ 
neath 25,000 little crosses, are sleeping on a gently 
sloping hill. At the summit of that hill Old Glory was 
waving in the breeze. In honor our hats were re¬ 
moved—instinctively. Here were some fallen flowers 
of our American manhood. My “buddy” was out there. 

A bowed father, who had traveled far, wanted 
to be shown the grave of his son. I saw him, our 
countryman, stand with bowed head and through tear- 
dimmed eyes, contemplate a little cross. I thought of 
an empty room back home where a mother pined. We 
can not fathom the anguish for boys who never came 
back. 

Voices! Silent, eloquent voices from beneath the 
crosses! 

To you from falling hands we throw 
The torch. Be yours to hold it high! 

If ye break faith with us who die, 

We shall not sleep though poppies grow 
In Flanders Fields. 

The answer that leaped to my mind was to ac- 


I Saw the Sea 


9 


cept the torch from falling hands and hold it as high 
as I could. I did not know how I could hold it high, 
but I wanted to give the warning if men should travel 
in the night. 

I have attempted the very difficult task of trying 
to picture, with utmost brevity, the depths of pains 
and agonies and sufferings we saw. War is hell but 
the aftermath is worse than hell. It is hard to picture 
one-half million men being blown to pieces in half an 
hour. It is hard to picture the heart throbs of moth¬ 
ers who sacrificed their sons. It is hard to picture or¬ 
phan children living in box cars, starving and dying. 
But see them and you can’t forget; yet just seeing them 
is not enough. Once you see and feel the need we 
have of men—men who are trained and have courage 
and character to live nobly—and your zeal to train and 
guide the young will be kindled. 

At Geneva the League of Nations was in operation. 
Here was an attempt, through the ideal of Woodrow 
Wilson, to unite the efforts of nations in trying to solve 
their problems. Not only would they attack war and 
try to eliminate it with all its accompanying evils, but 
they would attack other major problems as well. War 
is bad, but so is disease that takes millions of lives. 
War is bad, but so is international injustice. War is 
bad, but so is ignorance. These problems with many, 
many others would be attacked through the efforts of 


10 


I Saw the Sea 


nations that would unite. But—the character of its 

men marches ahead of an institution’s laws. 

We witnessed the Passion Play of Oberammergau, 
given every ten years by the simple folk of Bavaria 
in keeping a vow of their forefathers. For eight hours 
we saw the drama of the Passion week of Christ’s life 
enacted by those peasant actors. They held their au¬ 
dience spellbound because the theme was of the life 
cf one who taught men how to live. What a contrast 
to what we had been seeing in our studies! He loved 
instead of hating—loved even his enemies. He had 
compassion for the suffering of the widow, and the 
naked, and the hungry, and the criminal, and the poor. 
He, instead of fighting for power and fame, became a 
servant, even lowly enough to wash people’s feet. In¬ 
stead of living a jealous, selfish life, he trusted and lived 
for others. Instead of causing babies and men to die, 
he came that all might have abundant life. He put his 
hope in men and trained twelve of them. Perhaps here 
was a “torch” to hold high. 

It was during a week’s seclusion in the quiet, easy, 
academic atmosphere of Oxford that we had time to 
reconstruct and give meaning to our experiences. I 
withdrew with a feeling that though the human race 
has much to admire, it has much to improve. I felt 
there was a need for more and broader human sympathies. 
I pitied those who suffer because hatreds and greeds rule 


I Saw the: Se;a 


11 


in place of love. I desired to help adjust things so that 
later generations might live more happily. I felt, at first, 
a hopelessness; I was oppressed by the futility of trying 
to do anything because the task was so gigantic and 
I could do so little. But I had promised falling com¬ 
rades; I had promised innocent babies. What was I 
to do? 

I was drawn to a pathetic figure. I was drawn to 
the Man of Many Sorrows. He gave me my philosophy. 

Three things I had held as beliefs before, devel¬ 
oped into convictions of which I was sure. 

First —The solution of the world’s problems rests 
only in men, and the greater the problems the greater 
the need for real men. There is a Chinese proverb which 
says if you would plan for a year, plant grain; if you 
would plan for ten years, plant trees; if you would 
plan for one hundred years, plant men. The mills 
of the gods have always ground slowly. Permanent good 
takes time. 

He who is engaged in the task of building men is 
engaged in the greatest work in the world. The bank¬ 
er deals with money, the manufacturer with raw ma¬ 
terial things, but the builder of men deals with immortal 
souls. These souls, trained and possessing character, 
form the basis of a permanent solution to our problems. 

Second —I was convinced that if the part I played 
in the great cooperative effort of building men was to 


12 


I Saw the Sea 


be rendered with any meaning, I would have to sacri¬ 
fice. The meaning of our freedom, our faith, our hope, 
our mothers, rests upon sacrifice. 

Much of my human nature, too, would have to be 
broken. I had, so humanly, wanted to be famous and 
powerful and do popular things, quickly. I realized 
I would have to be content with being un-sung, and 
doing little things, patiently. 

“O Master! I would play the violin! 

Pray try me; I am really not unskilled.” 

The Master with a patient gesture stilled 

The ardent voice. “The music must begin. 

Seest thou, for violins I have no needf 

Back to the wood-wind; take thine own bassoon 

And play thy part.” 

The strings were all in tune, 

The brasses ready; still the voice did plead 

“0 Master! I play only three short bars.” 

“Thou playest the bassoon well. 

No more entreat. 

The three short bars are needed to complete 

The music that shall lift men to the stars.” 

0 Soul! play well the few notes given thee! 

The Master needs them for life's symphony. 


I Saw the Sea 


13 


Third —I looked forward and was convinced that 
there is no joy to compare with the joy that comes 
from a life well spent. He who gains the respect of 
his fellow-men and the love of little children, in help¬ 
ing build men for the ages, can Hie down to pleasant 
dreams/’ I coveted those dreams. 

I close this first chapter by re-echoing the silent 
voices of our comrades who sleep “in Flanders Fields”; 
by trying to arouse for Gold Star mothers a respon¬ 
sive heart throb; by trying to make real to you the 
appeal from suffering babies’ eyes. These tragic things 
will continue until men return with empty hands and 
say, “O Master ! I view the sea.” 

To me they plead for men. Institutions do not 
fail; it is our men who fail. The most perfect plan in 
the world will fail if the men fail, and the most perfect 
plan in the world will not work unless we have the men 
to make it work. The mightier the machine the mightier 
must be the men required to run it. To keep abreast 
of our fast-moving civilization WE NEED MEN. 

God give us men. A time like this demands 

Strong minds, great hearts, true faith and 
ready hands. 

Men whom the lust of office does not kill; 

Men whom the spoils of office can not buy; 


14 


I Saw the: Sea 


Men who possess opinions and a will; 

Men who have honor; men who will not lie. 

I believe in leagues of nations; I believe in disarma¬ 
ment conferences; I believe in institutions of mercy; 
I believe in the state; I believe in the church. But I also 
believe that the effectiveness of all these is reduceable to 
the character of the men who compose them. The 
peace and happiness and security of the world are going 
to be fashioned around blackboards, pews, and apron 
strings. My hope is in men. Therefore I am a teacher 
helping to build men. 

Bring nie men to match my mountains; 

Bring me men to match my plains, 

Men with empires in their purpose, 

And new eras in their brains. 

Bring me men to match my prairies, 

Men to match my inland seas, 

Men whose thoughts shall pave a highway 
Up to ampler destinies; 

Pioneers to clear thought's marshlands, 

And to cleanse old Error's fen; 

Bring me men to match my mountains — 

BRING ME MENA 

*The Coming American, by Sam Walter Foss, in Whiffs from 
Wild Meadows. By permission of Lathrop, Lee and Shepherd, pub¬ 
lishers. 


II 


“HE LIVES IN OBSCURITY AND CONTENDS 
WITH HARDSHIP” 

1 DON’T know what urges you to teach. I don’t 
know what vision you get from your experiences. 
I only know our pupils deserve our best and we can 
not give our best until we work for something deep 
down in our nature that understands. For obtaining 
this understanding, or vision, no rules can be applied, 
no methods devised, for it transcends rules and meth¬ 
ods. A few catch it as they journey—many never do. 
If it comes at all I think it comes as a gleam—and 
this gleam does not always come from mountain tops. 
Sometimes it comes from the valley of some deep ex¬ 
perience; or one may be born with the gift; or it may 
grow as we work. 

For Joan of Arc this gleam came in the form of 
a vision. She was asked the secret of the invincibility 
of her white banner, to which she replied, “I send my 
banner forward against the enemy, and then I follow 
it myself.” A simple peasant girl became the heroine 
of France—a martyr to her vision. 

Margaret Sanger sat beside the bed of a poor 
mother and saw her die giving birth to a child whose 


(IS) 


16 


I Saw the Sea 


coming she believed would have wrecked their poverty 
stricken home. Mrs. Sanger plodded home, dazed, 
clutching her nurse’s case. Her husband and three 
children were asleep. She stood at a window, think¬ 
ing, until dawn—“Now I know what I must do,” she 
said. 

I teach among the poor—people who live in hovels. 
I have one little pupil with deep brown eyes who would 
be beautiful had she but half a chance. Her parents 
are dirty and ignorant. One cold winter day her lit¬ 
tle baby sister died in their cold, cheerless home, vir¬ 
tually frozen to death. I saw this little girl come slow¬ 
ly across the school-yard, weeping. She came to her 
school—and her teacher—for a little sympathy. She 
was so pathetic and so alone. I could feel her hun¬ 
gering heart as it reached out for some one to love 
and understand her. I wish I could, for her sake, 
make you feel how longingly she waits for someone 
to catch the gleam. Jesus must have yearned for Peter 
to catch that gleam when he asked three times: “Lov- 
est thou me? Feed my lambs.” 


A LMOST any one can go through a teacher’s daily 
** routine, but to be an artist and work with mean¬ 
ing we must have understood; we must have “viewed 
the sea”; we must have seen the gleam. When this 


I Saw this Ssa 


17 


has come then we will “follow the gleam” and our 
personalities will glow and our lives will have meaning. 

A violin string, lying on the table, as a person 
without a vision, is worthless. But place it in position 
on a violin, put it under terrific strain and give Kreisler 
the bow then it is ready for its part in life’s symphony. 

Sir Launfal started out in youth to search for the 
Holy Grail. He saw a begg'ar at the gate and threw 
some gold at his feet. What happened? The beggar 
spurned the gold and remained a beggar. After long 
years of searching and learning to understand, the 
knight returned and found a beggar at the gate again. 
This time he did not have gold to give—but he had 
something better. He took his last crust of bread and 
went HIMSELF and shared his crust and drink with 
the beggar. Lo! the crust of bread became the finest 
cake, the water changed into the finest wine, and the 
beggar was the Savior. 

It may be just a story but it is sound philosophy. 
We must sacrifice if we expect to build men. Light 
comes from burning things. Something must be con¬ 
sumed or there is no light. If we expect to be radiant 
for our pupils the preparation and teaching of each 
lesson—all our actions—must be freighted with our¬ 
selves. If our efforts have not been burned into what 
we do there can be no light. 

A young teacher, like Father Damien, visited a 


18 


I Saw the Sea 


leper colony and felt how badly they needed some one 
to bring them cheer. She knew if she chose to serve 
them, it would probably mean contracting the dreaded 
disease and death, but she chose to serve. She gath¬ 
ered the lepers together in a choir and trained them to 
sing. Do you imagine their music would have a depth 
of meaning? A man who had but a stump of a finger 
left on his hand played the violin. A visitor who heard 
this choir sing remarked: “God, what music!’ 

The beautiful Hawaiian music is a product of the 
lepers. The Negro spirituals have come from bond¬ 
age of Negro slaves. 

Gandhi, desiring to help lift millions of wretched 
untouchables of India was in London for a confer¬ 
ence. He could have enjoyed the hospitality of the 
king, but he chose to sleep on a crude bed with the 
poor. His life has meaning for his people but he 
pays for that meaning. 

David Livingstone took light to the savages of 
darkest Africa, but his heart is buried there under the 
trees. 

Martyrs have meaning because they have placed 
themselves on the altar. 

We saw portrayed the Passion Week of One who 
is the “Light of the World,” but the wick of that 
“Light” is dipped in the blood of a cross. 

We may not be called upon to give our physical 


I Saw the: Se;a 


19 


life to be an effective teacher, but we must put life 
into our work to give it meaning. The value of things 
does not depend on bigness; it depends on how much 
of life is put into them. Even a crust of bread, even 
a cup of cold water, even a widow’s mite are valuable 
because of sacrifice they represent. 

It is this philosophy that gives motherhood its 
meaning. Mother gives so much of herself to her chil¬ 
dren, and because she gives herself, motherhood is one 
of civilization’s most precious things. 

When the child is ill somehow even mother’s look 
has a meaning—somehow mother’s touch is soothing. 
When the eldest son is a “black sheep” and has com¬ 
mitted a great crime for which he is to be hanged and 
the world turns against him,—does his mother? Not 
on your life. If anything she loves him more. If he 
needs money to fight for his life, the world will prob¬ 
ably turn him down; but mother will sell the home, 
the furniture, everything, to get money to fight for 
her boy. When he loses and must hang : 

“7 know whose love would follow him still 

Mother o’ mine, Mother o’ mine.” 

As he is led away to be hanged, mother will cling 
to him pleading to die in place of her first-born. Truly 
the way of love, but mothers travel that way. 


20 


I Saw the Sea 


Enshrined forever in my treasure house of mem¬ 
ories are not teachings of great scholars but wee bits 
of old songs my mother sang, children’s prayers at 
eventide, the caress of calloused hands that worked for 
me. My hat is off, my head reverently bowed at the 
shrine of earth’s greatest teachers—mothers. 

A true teacher—a radiant teacher, a builder of 
men—has the spirit of motherhood. 

Everything dear our race possesses—homes, 
churches, schools, freedom—have all cost dearly. If 
we could understand their foundations, we could un¬ 
derstand that light comes from burning things. 

QOMETIMES, in our impatience, we may overlook 
^ the value of little things we can do. At the time 
they seem little but they may be very significant. 

The stars look small viewed from our earth—but 
they are not small. 

Did ever ship of many tons, through whose port¬ 
holes glisten mighty cannons, carry such cargo as did 
a little basket, length three feet, floating on the river 
Nile? 

The parsonage is on fire. All are out and safe 
except one small child. He is in danger of being burned 
to death when two peasants form a ladder and down 
their shoulders crawls—John Wesley! Making a peas- 


I Saw the Sea 


21 


ant ladder was a small thing to do but ask millions of 
Methodists on either side of the sea whether it meant 
anything! 

“It had been a dull year in the church where Moffat 
was converted. The deacons finally said to the old 
pastor: ‘We love you, pastor, but don’t you think you 
had better resign? There hasn’t been a convert this 
year.’ ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘it has been a dull year— 
sadly dull to me. Yet I mind me that one did come, 
wee Bobby Moffat. But he is so wee a lad that I sup¬ 
pose it is not right to count him.’ A few years later 
Bobby came to the pastor and said, ‘Pastor, do you 
think that I could ever learn to preach? I feel within 
here something that tells me that I ought to. If I 
could just lead souls to Christ, that would be happiness 
to me.’ The pastor answered, ‘Well, Bobby, you might; 
who knows? At least you can try!’ He did try, and 
years later when Robert Moffat came back from his 
wonderful work in Africa, the King of England rose 
and uncovered in his presence, and the British Parliament 
stood as a mark of respect. The humble old preacher 
who had but one convert, and who was so discouraged, 
is dead and forgotten, and yet that was the greatest 
year’s work he ever did—and few have equaled it.”* 

Paul was sought to be killed. The soldiers had 

*From 5000 Best Modern Illustrations, by G. B. F. Hallock. 
Permission of Harper and Brothers, publishers. 


22 


I Saw the Sea 


located the house in which he was hiding. They were 
upon him; but a friend held a rope and let him down 
through the window in a basket. A little thing to hold 
a rope but was it important? 

“In a remote district of Wales a baby boy lay dan¬ 
gerously ill. The widowed mother walked five miles 
through the night in a drenching rain to get the doc¬ 
tor. He hesitated about making the unpleasant trip. 
He questioned, 'Would it pay?’ He knew he would 
receive no money for his services; and, besides, the 
child, if his life was saved, would no doubt become a 
poor laborer. But love for humanity, and a sense of 
professional duty, conquered, and the little life was 
saved. Little did that doctor dream that that life was 
the future Prime Minister of England—David Lloyd 
George.”* 

I have a curly-haired boy just four years old. Next 
year I shall entrust him to a kindergarten teacher. I 
hope his teacher will understand, that though he is small 
sitting there before her in his little chair, he represents 
to me much more than all earthly things I possess. 
r p HE story of Margaret of New Orleans is simple. 
A “A husband and wife, fresh Irish immigrants, died 
in Baltimore of yellow fever, leaving their infant, 
named Margaret, upon the charity of the community— 
an orphan. A sturdy young Welsh couple, who had 


♦Ibid. 


I Saw the Sea 


23 


crossed the ocean with the Irish immigrants, took the 
little orphan and cared for her as if she were their own 
child. They kept her with them until she married a 
young Irishman in her own rank of life. Failing health 
forced the husband to remove to the warmer climate of 
New Orleans, and finally, for the sake of the sea voyage, 
to sail to Ireland, where he died. Shortly afterwards, 
Margaret, in New Orleans, lost her baby. To make a 
living, she engaged as laundress in the St. Charles 
Hotel. At twenty this was her equipment to do great 
things. 

'‘The sisters of a neighboring asylum were at the 
time in great straits to provide for the orphans in their 
charge, and they were struggling desperately to build 
a larger house, which was becoming daily more neces¬ 
sary to them. The childless widow, Margaret, went to 
the superior and offered her humble services and a 
share of her earnings. They were most gratefully ac¬ 
cepted. From her savings at the laundry, Margaret 
bought two cows, and opened a dairy, delivering the 
milk herself. Every morning, year after year in rain 
or shine, she drove her cart the rounds of her trade. 
Returning she would gather up the cold victuals which 
she begged from the hotels, and these she would distri¬ 
bute among the asylums in need. And many a time it 
was only this food that kept hunger from the orphans. 
It was during those deadly periods of the great epi- 


24 


I Saw the Sea 


demies, when children were orphaned by the thousands, 
that the new larger asylum was commenced; and in ten 
years, Margaret’s dairy pouring its profits steadily into 
the exchequer, was completed and paid for. The dairy 
was enlarged, and more money was made, out of which 
an infant asylum—her baby house, as Margaret called 
it—was built; and then the St. Elizabeth training asylum 
for grown girls. With all this, Margaret still could 
save money to invest. One of her debtors, a baker, 
failing, she was forced to accept his establishment for 
his debt. She therefore dropped her dairy and took to 
baking, substituting the bread for the milk cart. She 
furnished the orphan asylums at so low a price and 
gave away so much bread in charity that it is surpris¬ 
ing that she made any money at all; but every year 
brought an increase in business, and an enlargement of 
her original establishment which grew in time into a 
factory worked by steam. It was situated in the busi¬ 
ness center of the city, and Margaret, always sitting in 
the open doorway of her office, and always good- 
humored and talkative, became an integral part of the 
business world about her. No one could pass without 
a word with her; and, as it was said, no enterprise that 
she endorsed ever failed. She was consulted as an in¬ 
fallible oracle by all—ragamuffins, paper boys, porters, 
clerks; even by her neighbors, the great merchants and 
bankers, all calling her “Margaret” and nothing more. 


I Saw the Sea 


25 


She never dressed otherwise than in calico and never 
wore any other head-covering than a sunbonnet. She 
never learned to read or write and never could distin¬ 
guish one figure from another. She signed with a mark 
the will that distributed her thousands of dollars to the 
orphan asylums of the city. 

“When she died, it seemed as if people could not 
believe it. Margaret dead! Why, each one had just 
seen her, talked to her, consulted her, asked her for 
something, received something from her! The news of 
the death of any one else in the city would have been 
received with more credulity. But the papers all ap¬ 
peared in mourning. Every business house in New Or¬ 
leans closed that day. After her leaving, a statue was 
erected to her memory. 

“All the dignitaries of the State and City were at 
the unveiling of the statue. A thousand orphans, rep¬ 
resenting every asylum in the city, occupied the seats 
of honour; a delegation of them pulled the cords that 
held the canvas covering over the marble and, as it fell, 
and ‘Margaret’ appeared, their delight led the loud 
shout of joy and the hand-clapping. 

“The dedication speech expressed their feeling for 
all time: ‘To those who look with concern upon the 
moral situation of the hour, and fear that human ac¬ 
tion finds its sole motive today in selfishness and greed, 
who imagine that the world no longer yields homage 


26 


I Saw the Sea 


save to fortune and power the scene affords comfort 
and cheer. When we see the people of this great city 
meet without distinction of age, rank, or creed, with 
one heart to pay tribute of love and respect to the hum¬ 
ble woman who passed her quiet life among us under 
the simple name of “Margaret,” we come fully to know, 
to feel, and to appreciate, the matchless power of a 
life well spent. The substance of her life was charity; 
the spirit of it, truth; the strength of it, religion; the 
end, peace—then fame and immortality/ ”* 

A true story of what one poor, unlettered, orphan 
girl did when, from her deep life experiences she had 
“viewed the sea,” and toiled in sacrifice for the orphans 
of New Orleans. 

Teachers—and all those engaged in building men— 
may we deepen our understanding that there is no call¬ 
ing greater! May we catch a gleam of the mighty 
significance of what we are doing! 


*From Grace King, New Orleans, the Place and the People. 
By permission of The Macmillan Company, publishers. 


Ill 

“HE AWAKENS SLEEPING SPIRITS” 


“I do not know that I could make entirely clear to an outsider the 
pleasure I have in teaching. I had rather earn my living by teach¬ 
ing than in any other way. In my mind, teaching is not merely a 
life work, a profession, an occupation, a struggle; it is a passion. 
I love to teach. 

“I love to teach as a painter loves to paint, as a musician loves 
to play, as a singer loves to sing, as a strong man rejoices to run 
a race. Teaching is an art.” 

William Lyon Phelps 

«T HERE is a certain type of teacher who turns 
out a well trained class every year. She stays 
year after year in the same grade, doing the 
same thing in the same way, and getting good results. 
She meets all the requirements of the school and main¬ 
tains a high standard of efficiency, but she does noth¬ 
ing more. She has reached her growth—her standards 
are high but they are fixed. 

“There is another type of teacher who teaches as 
well as the former. She meets all the requirements of 
the school, and turns out at the end of the year an 
equally well trained class, but she does something more. 
She affixes on each child the mark of positive and dy¬ 
namic personality. If that impress reflects high motives 


(27) 


28 


I Saw the Sea 


and spiritual greatness, such a teacher has set a standard 
of excellence which cannot be measured in terms of 
diplomas or credits. This is the superior teacher. 

“In a certain church I have often viewed with 
reverence a picture back of the pulpit. Mankind is as¬ 
sembled in a beautiful setting of rolling country, while 
Christ, the central figure, pleads, with outstretched hands 
and benign countenance, ‘Come unto Me/ Back of this 
stained glass on which the scene is depicted is a special 
arrangement of lighting. Once I saw this picture when 
the light was off. The figures were cold and lifeless; 
the outlines were indistinct; the colors were heavy and 
dull. The impression produced was one of distant cold¬ 
ness. Again, I saw the picture when the light was on. 
Now it was transfused with brilliancy of color; the 
dull outlines became clear and distinct; the figures glowed 
with warmth and life. 

“The dynamic teacher, who takes advantage of all 
the means of improvement at her command, with a will 
to apply the results in her daily work, kindles a light 
that shines through her personality and enlivens the 
spirit in the child. The light of inspiration transforms 
the teacher from a mere instructor to a vitalizing force 
in the child’s life. The superior teacher is a good teach¬ 
er with THE EIGHT TURNED ON.”* 

*The Teacher's Margin of Value, by David A. Ward, in Normal 
Instructor and Primary Plans—April, 1928. 


I Saw the Sea 


29 


TVJO better example of a superior teacher can be taken 

than that of the Great Teacher. No other one has 
been quite so radiant and vital. Thirty years of his life 
were spent in growing in stature and increasing in favor 
with God and man. He had compassion for humanity, 
weeping for those who suffered, grieving over men’s 
poverty of spirit. He was not so concerned that men 
did not have bread—he was concerned that they did not 
have the Bread of Tife. He wanted men to have life— 
abundant life. He dedicated himself to his task and 
was led into the wilderness to be tempted. So are we 
tempted. 

The temptation was presented to change the stones 
into bread but he chose to live by the words that pro¬ 
ceeded from the mouth of God. He recognized the 
wealth of something beyond things—beyond material 
possessions. He recognized a higher appetite than the 
appetite for bread. 

The next temptation was to become publicised, in 
a cheap way, by displaying his power. He could have 
made the front pages. He could have become popular, 
but he chose to be real and true though it meant being 
misunderstood. 

Then he was given the opportunity of becoming 
King of all the nations of the earth. He could have 
been famous and popular and powerful. His soldiers 
could have forced all nations to bow to him. Easily 


30 


I Saw the: Ska 


he could have solved the problem of the poor, for whom 
he had such great compassion and concern, by provid¬ 
ing them with palaces, and food, and clothing. He could 
have been a great success. In his wisdom, though, he chose 
to become a servant. He chose to suffer and remain poor 
with not where to lay his head. He chose the hard way 
of Gethsemane. He chose the rugged way of the cross. 
He chose the way of love. But his every act was laden 
with meaning; even his touch could heal. When he 
walked with the two men on their way to Emmaus he 
talked to them. After he had gone they said, “Did not 
our heart burn within us while he talked with us by the 
way?” The “light” was turned on. 

I once taught with a teacher who was radiant and 
vital in her work. She brought to the classroom a 
“margin of value” that will shine back through the 
years. This teacher, besides maintaining high standards 
of preparations, and recitations, and drills, brought 
something more—a radiating personality. She was not 
required by the school to teach natural science at all, 
but she was joyful in observing nature. She and the 
children gathered moths, birds’ nests, eggs, and flowers 
with a great deal of interest. Through her was trans¬ 
mitted to the children a love of nature. 

Later I was visiting in the community and found a 
family purchasing a set of reference books. The mother 
said they were getting this set of books for their boy 


I Saw the Sea 


31 


because he hungered for all the material he could get 
about nature. This boy knew all the birds in that vi¬ 
cinity, their habits and haunts and their beautiful songs. 
He also knew the trees and plants and loved them. His 
desire for knowledge about them could not be satisfied. 
He loved nature. Here were the beginnings of a natural¬ 
ist. Here was the living realization of that margin of 
value, that personal element that was not required. 

^IITHAT I need,” says Emerson, “is someone to 
make me do what I can.” 

Many people surprise themselves and their friends 
after they have been aroused. A prominent judge in 
one of our western cities, in middle life, was working 
in a blacksmith shop. He heard a lecture one night on 
the value of education. Now, as judge, he has the best 
library in his city and is recognized as one of its best 
read men—a leader in all its worthy civic undertakings. 

I knew of an ignorant, unpromising young man 
nineteen years of age who talked to a teacher. This 
young man was picking cotton one day when he picked 
up his sack, went to the boss and said: “I am going to 
school.” He finished the common school, then high 
school and entered the university to study theology. 
Today he is a respected leader in his state in his calling. 

Marshall Field was a miserable failure in his first 


32 


I Saw the Sea 


job in a store. Said the owner of the store to young 
Marshall’s father: “Take him back to the farm, Mr. 
Field, for he will never' make a merchant.” Watch 
him after he visits Chicago and sees the large establish¬ 
ments and is aroused. He becomes the Prince of Mer¬ 
chants. 

Simple fisher folk, after they have been with the 
Master Teacher, became forces the Roman Empire 
could not destroy. 

When spirits are kindled we can not tell what will 
happen. We can not measure the limits of influence 
when a soul has been set aflame, for it becomes a part 
of the indestructible ages. 

As teachers we shepherd many children. One could 
wish for no greater opportunity of serving for when 
we paint achievement as a great adventure and the light 
of our personality shines through the picture, some 
adventurous one may be fired with a zeal to achieve. 
When a child’s spirit has been aroused to explore we 
can not tell what unknown seas it will visit. Teaching 
is an adventure into the land of childhood to awaken 
great spirits that sleep and bid them arise and achieve 
in the service of their king. 


IV 

“THIS IS HIS REWARD” 


A ROUND any institution where there are workers 
it is easy to tell when it is pay day. There is a 
joyous feeling among the laborers. Every one 
smiles just a little easier; is more courteous and talks 
freer; is just a little happier. All this is perfectly nat¬ 
ural and is as it should be. The laborer is worthy of 
his hire and should rejoice when he is rewarded for 
his services. 

Some time ago an editor wrote to an aged man, 
asking him this question: “What things have you done 
in your life that have brought you the greatest pleasure 
and happiness ?” This was the answer: “What I have 
done for the good of other people.” Then he quoted, 
“It is not by what you try to get out of the world that 
your life will be enriched; it is by what you give to the 
world.” 

A certain teacher in one of our state high schools, 
who has spent more than thirty-five years guiding the 
young, came into the school room one day aglow with 
happiness. Tears of utter and inexpressible joy were 
in her eyes. She had just had a pay day. The previous 
evening, a man, bringing his family with him, had driven 


(33) 


34 


I Saw the Sea 


hundreds of miles to express to her his appreciation for 
what she had meant to him when he was her pupil years 
before. He was now a successful man, influential in his 
community. To the teacher it was a pleasure beyond ex¬ 
pressing to know that her life had a meaning in broad¬ 
ening the horizon for this man. That was, indeed, her 
pay day. 

A true story is told by one of our late educational 
leaders—a late college president—of what happened in 
a small school in a New England state. In this district 
a gang of rowdy boys delighted in causing trouble, even 
going so far as to make a sport of running every teach¬ 
er away before the school year was over. The school 
board decided to call upon a teacher’s agency for the 
largest, strongest teacher it could get in hopes that he 
would be able to handle this gang. The agency, not 
having such a teacher, sent them instead a frail, be¬ 
spectacled, but earnest looking young man. This teacher, 
wiser than he looked, visited the district some days be¬ 
fore school was to begin and found out about the lead¬ 
er of the gang. Among other things, he found out that 
this boy’s greatest delight was hunting. On Friday the 
teacher visited the home of this leader and in a very 
tactful way arranged for a day of hunting with the boy. 

The following Monday morning when the teacher 
was preparing for the day’s work, he heard through an 
open window the leader rounding up the gang and warn- 


I Saw the: Se;a 


35 


ing them that the one who “started anything” with that 
teacher would sure ‘"hub trouble” for they were pals. 
The teacher stayed till the end of the term. 

Years later in the west, as an official of his State 
Association, this same frail, bespectacled, teacher had the 
pleasure of introducing as a convention speaker, this 
same leader of the rowdy gang who was now the Com¬ 
missioner of Education of the United States. That was 
pay day. 

When we approach the retirement age if we have 
that inward satisfaction that we have lived for some¬ 
thing beyond ourselves; if friends bring us flowers and 
seek our presence because they love us for what we have 
meant to them, we have a reward for which kings would 
give their realms. This is real happiness. This is the 
reward of a life that “views the sea”—that mysterious 
sea of struggling humanity—then sacrifices in manning 
the life-boats to the vessels in distress and rejoices when 
passengers are brought safely home. 

In a little log cabin of Kentuckians, whence you 
would not expect mighty things, a pioneer mother lay 
dying. She called a little boy to her side and, placing 
her arms around him and looking so knowingly into 
his eyes, said: “Get lamin’, Abe; study hard; think of 
mother.” Could that mother have lived to see that 
little boy chosen to occupy the most honored position 
our people can bestow and have heard him say, “All 


36 


I Saw the Sea 


that I am or hope to be I owe to my angel mother/’ she 
would have been rewarded beyond the price of rubies. 
It may be her pay day is deferred for some glorious 
morning, but her pay is drawing interest—interest com¬ 
pounded, for millions of other people have been made 
better because of the example of this great, good man. 
They have been made better because he had a big heart 
and could sympathize with his fellow-men, because he 
had the spirit of motherhood, because he traveled the 
way of love, because his life is on the altar of his gleam. 

I HAVE finished. I have told you nothing new, perhaps 
* nothing you did not already know. I have desired to 
pay a tribute to the real teachers who are not working 
for praise or fame but are content to give of themselves 
that others may see the light and live happier, and fuller, 
and freer lives. Also I have intensely desired that those 
who are in the process of developing a philosophy toward 
their work may catch a glimpse of some vision, and 
that they may feel the sacredness of the privilege of 
living with little children whose little eyes look to them 
for a glowing personality. How longingly the world 
waits for the awakened talents these little boys and girls 
possess! Dear Teacher, if you would be radiant to the 
little ones who look to you, you must choose the way 
of love and walk in that way with abandon. It may 


I Saw the Sea 


37 


mean that you will have to remain poor in things—but 
you will be rich in spiritual power. It may mean that 
you will have to suffer—but you will find abiding joy. 
It may mean giving yourself as a servant—but you will 
be a king. 

For the sake of those whose tongues are silent; of 
those whose hearts have bled; of appealing baby eyes; 
of those who are poor; of those who are waiting for 
you to understand: may these words arouse in you some 
responsive chord, and may your eyes light with flame 
as you stand and say, “O Master! I see the sea!” 



















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